hurry up and wait
by BisquickBismarck
Summary: swing low, sweet [passus et sepultus est tamen did non et ascendit in caelum] chariot, come'in for to carry me home. [axel.riku][s: wherein identification is emblazoned]
1. n: wherein we puzzle

**n:  
**wherein we puzzle

_now_

Axel took his place with straight-backed resolution; sucked his ribs, curled his toes, nestled his most wicked, catty grin beside the mother in the front most pew, far before the congregation of rue, stares and blame that simply would have to be content with hating the back of his hair.

A trembling prune-man rummaged through a list of tributes and moth-chewed drudgery. Clichés spun in nameless loops, screeching out "ashes to ashes", "a debt to be paid".

Axel held his wrists.

That clergy-fuck recycled every paragraph he recited. It didn't take much to insert a new name.

Then they were allowed to move. Trudge forth in their monotone mass of carbon-colored satin to cast a vigil along the charnel.

Axel watched them look.

For most, they glared, like frozen wanderers, at wood and wax and fresh, skin oils. Some whispered sentiments, prayers. Maybe tears would leak. Nobody touched.

Assured, they'd twist their ugly faces and make to turn away.

The mum was finishing when Axel stepped up behind her.

She whipped around, her face hard stone. Ashy lips bowed a sullen downward curve above which two rotten eyes were strung. They would be something green if not for the hurt and emptiness and _hatred_ that etched her whites so brightly. Those fists dug their nails and Axel just braced for a smack.

But she marched away, and it was, at last, Axel's turn.

**:t(o) b(e) c(ontinue'd):**

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**wouldn't you like to review? **assures a faster update, it does.  
expect about 9, short chapters. 

aye, my latin is mangled at best, and i invite anyone, who has studied this ancient tongue, to help correct the description. what i know of musical notations, italian, spanish, and Catholic prayers does not seem to helping me any. xD


	2. o: wherein the ditch is filled

**o:  
**wherein the ditch is filled

_then_

"Fuck."

It was only when the headlights swung away into the foliage had Axel thought it prime to peek at what had made those noises.

What he wasn't expecting was the "dead" guy, curled fetal, in the refuse ditch beside his parked and slumbering jeep.

All along his naked back and arms the milk-white skin was peeled raw. Little snowy flecks wriggled off his body every time the night air moved. Blisters had already risen along on his collarbone; the clear-pale abscesses continued well below the waist.

His throat was black.

Axel didn't think: he slung him up by the armpits and hauled him into the house.

**:t(o) b(e) c(ontinued):**

* * *

you read that right: he's "dead". not dead, but "dead". tiny difference. :D 

quick update because this one is so damn short. sowrry.

**reviews? **BiZ tends to get the update-itch every ten reviews or so.


	3. s: wherein identification is emblazoned

**s:  
**wherein identification is emblazoned

_then_

Axel counted out his beating heart. Numbered the thread that fluttered, meek and tired, in a hard-pressed pulse.

One.

One; "two" didn't number. There was too much pause.

He touched on a patch of pink skin right above his tummybutton. Face averted as he tasted, somewhat, at modesty for the "dead": though somewhat clean of soot and grass, dressing the ward was not an option—Axel didn't dare—the empty space alone broiled with his emanating heat; a wet washrag was quick to spit steam.

One.

Wan-pale eyes roved beneath their lids; rolled around in a sea-color underneath the paper-rice skin.

Axel worried a cheek, checked on his fever; caught a steady glint between his breasts where the sores were bright and tender.

He drew close. The medical tag was welded in flesh:

_Riku Tanishiro (13 Nov. 1981)  
Hemo($#  
Emergency_  
_801-7&/58-_

Whatever else was engraved had warped and lost cohesion.

Axel pulled a steady length along the man's cheek, through his hair—through what slick iron had not been burnt away—caressed the hard jaw's charring.

While petty criminals had use of taking tags, those killers careful enough not to drop trace had little use of tearing off IDs.

He refreshed the vessel, twirled in several more dumps of ice, let it sit; melt.

Riku wasn't supposed to be alive.

**:t(o) b(e) c(ontinue'd):**

* * *

**ha. review.** tanishiro means something that i thought was clever. something like white valley or white river or white forest. but i forgot. i easter egg'd a lot for later chapters. look for them if it so pleases you. 


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